


Start to Finish

by Inactive_Account



Series: Shouta Keith [8]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Mpreg, Rape Recovery, Shouta, Sibling Incest, Underage - Adult/Minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 15:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14548071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inactive_Account/pseuds/Inactive_Account
Summary: Keith never knew he needed to be rescued.He always enjoyed what he thought to be normal, even when Shiro strove to keep their 'relationship' secret, and - as the nine-year old developed - he knew something was amiss. He only knew that he wanted friends . . . friends beyond the son he was forced to bear . . . and it was only when things went 'wrong' that they finally went 'right'.





	Start to Finish

“Breathe deep, baby.”

Keith choked back on his tears. The pain was immense, as if he were being torn open in two, and he clamoured and climbed and clawed at the medical bed, as if he could somehow get away from his lower body. A loud scream ripped through his throat, while Shiro held him down by his shoulders and forced him to stay in place. He felt wet liquid over his legs. The tears were bitter on his lips. He tasted iron on his tongue.

A plastic device was pressed to his mouth, as he breathed deep and his nerves were mildly numbed, but still he was stretched and stretched to breaking point as Matt knelt between spread legs with hands partially inside his gaping hole. Keith struggled to see through his tears and the large bulge of his stomach, but the pain forced his eyes shut as every ounce of skin broke into a heavy sweat, as he screamed once again and tried to slash his way through his stomach with tiny fingers. A mantra of ‘no, no, no’ escaped his lips.

Shiro grabbed at his hands and held hard at his wrists. Keith felt his heart race in his chest, while he choked on saliva and blood, and he accidentally spat out the bit of plastic once more, before Matt roughly shove it back and begged him to breathe deep. The contractions of his stomach were sharp and radiated through his whole body, while he mumbled behind the plastic for Shiro to kill him . . . make it end . . . let God take him . . . Shiro wept out:

“Can’t you give him an epidural?”

“This is just a small clinic, Shiro,” spat Matt. “Even if I wanted, he’s too far into his labour! You want to take him to a hospital and get arrested? Fine, be my guest. In the meantime, all I have is gas-and-air and prayers that he won’t need a fucking c-section.”

Keith screamed again. The sheets stuck to his back with sweat, while his limbs grew heavy and stung with a needle-like pain, and he panted for breath and screwed shut his eyes once again, before he clenched his fists until he was choking on bile and undigested food. A heavy pressure took over his lower half, as Matt pressed down on his stomach and reached inside him with a gloved hand, and Shiro told him over and over that it would be fine, even as Keith grew light-headed and dizzy and his vision turned white. Matt called out to him:

“Okay, push. Push, Keith! Now!”

* * *

Keith sat with arms around his legs.

The ache to his stomach was heavy and dull, but nowhere near as bad as the birth so many weeks ago, and – as he sniffed and leaned back against the wall – the windowsill under his buttocks only added to the pain in his lower back. He remembered too well the words from Matt . . . _‘he needs total bed-rest’_. . . bed grew boring after a while, especially as he heard children playing on the streets beyond and wanted to play alongside them.

Keith let a tear fall down his cheek; they were so clear from his window, as they laughed and fought and studied together, and he saw some on the kerb with folders out and pencils ready, just as he saw others kicking around a ball on the tarmac road. It was never lonely with Shiro in the house . . . teaching him what should have been taught at school, sleeping beside him with erection pressed between his buttocks, rustling his hair whenever he walked by him . . . still, he wanted someone his own age and Throk could have been that friend.

The bedroom was filled with the latest toys and books. He knew no other children had four-hundred dollar phones complete with the latest accessories, but the phone was useless when he only had Shiro to send photos and Shiro to make calls and Shiro to play games. Keith glanced across the room to where Shiro sat bent over a desk filled with paperwork from the college, where he sent barely a few glances to Keith over the rims of his glasses.

“You know Throk belongs to Sendak,” pleaded Shiro.

Keith jumped down from the windowsill. He still felt uncomfortable in his behind, as the bleeding from the birth was still refusing to stop, and Matt would only say ‘that’s normal’ as if the pain and bleeding could ever be normal. It also meant that Shiro couldn’t make love to him, except for times Keith used his mouth to make him happy, and that meant Shiro was more solemn . . . more cold . . . Keith dragged his feet over to Shiro.

He climbed up onto his lap. Shiro laughed and buried his head into Keith’s neck, where he breathed deep and held him close with hands running up and down his back, and together they sat together in the warm room on the wooden chair. Keith listened as the children played, just as he listened while his brother continued to scratch at the paper to finish his work. The world went on and he could barely remember how Throk looked. He simply knew that his stomach was empty and the house was too quiet. Keith sniffed and rubbed at his eyes.

“I wanted a friend to play with,” mumbled Keith.

Shiro hummed and put down his pen. A few seconds passed, until Keith was carried over to the king-sized bed and placed gently down on the mattress, and Shiro drew the covers up to his chin before handing him the remote control for the television, where a cartoon played that Keith used to enjoy before Throk was taken away . . . _unable to hold him, unable to name him_. . . the colours looked less pretty and the jokes seemed less funny. Shiro asked:

“Aren’t I your friend?”

The volume was turned up, while a plate of his favourite foods was slid beside him, and he lost count of all the chocolate and sandwiches and cakes, even as his mouth watered and he thought about how Throk might have enjoyed sweet tastes, too. Keith wanted to play with a ball or hide in a den or cycle on his bike, but Shiro was so old. . . _‘I’m busy now, babe’, ‘wouldn’t you rather play a videogame’, ‘you’re hot when you pout’_. . . Shiro was already humming an old tune to some really old song, as he went back to his desk to work.

“A _real_ friend,” said Keith.

* * *

“I know you’ve been lonely, Keith.”

Keith smiled, as the candlelight lit up the lounge. The shadows that played on the walls were beautiful, enough that he could almost get lost in them, and the scent of incense was heavy in the air, along with the delicious aroma of home-cooked food. Shiro knelt down to wrap his arms around the eight-year old frame of Keith, while trailing kisses down his cheeks and neck, until Keith grew erect and let out a low groan. He was growing quickly now. Too quickly.

He knew puberty came to the Galra on their first sexual encounter, even as his human side slowed the process to a crawl, but now – after the birth – Shiro was forced to wax away his pubic hair and constantly coaxed him to speak in a higher voice. Keith was tall enough to reach Shiro’s nipples with his mouth, at least on tiptoe, and he constantly woke up with a ‘hard-on’ that had Shiro suckling his cock until clear liquid shot from the head. He still wanted to play with the children outside, but Shiro said they would think him a teenager.

“We could have another child,” whispered Shiro. “ _Our_ child to keep.”

A callused hand worked at his trousers. They fell to the ground, even as Keith stood with wide eyes and lips half-parted into a smile, and he thought about finally no longer being alone with a friend by his side to make him laugh and cry and smile. He barely noticed as the hand worked at his cock with long and slow strokes, coaxing him into arousal, as in his mind he was already far into the future . . . _jumpers used as goalposts, a soccer ball kicked across the lawn, gossip about the latest shows and music . . ._ he wouldn’t be alone.

Shiro worked a hand between his cheeks, where his hole was already wet from the stimulation, and soon he slid a digit inside while he nibbled at Keith’s ear, blowing warm air with each exhale as he licked at the lobe. The food was growing cold on the table, while the glasses of wine looked delicious and would be his first sip of alcohol, and Shiro had littered the dining room with rose petals that reminded Keith of romantic movies.

It was a few seconds before Shiro was unbuckling his pants. Keith automatically moved into position without question, as he braced himself with both hands on the chair, and said nothing as Shiro slid inside him right until the hilt, so that balls pressed against his buttocks. The full sensation had Keith clenching his inner walls around the hot penis deep inside him, as he mewled and thrust back in search of further stimulation, while Shiro lifted his shirt high over his head and tossed it across the room. Keith turned his head to ask in a whimper:

“I could be their papa?”

Shiro laughed and tweaked at his nipples. Keith moaned and thrust once more, as he gasped for breath and his length wept pre-come along his stomach, and soon Shiro was groaning in his ear loud enough to send vibrations down his spine. The pleasure and arousal were intense, so that Keith was seeing stars before they even truly begun, and he couldn’t help but cry out as Shiro slammed into him and aimed for his sweet spot, until there was nothing else in the world but the act of primal sex between them. Shiro cried out in a loud voice:

“Let me pump you full of baby-juice, you fucking come-slut!”

* * *

Keith heard Lotor heave a loud sigh.

The basement in Sendak’s house was pretty nice, even if there was a huge pole right in the middle that linked to a scary looking chain on Lotor’s leg, but – even then – Lotor simply lay on the bed with legs spread and hands wrapped around his ankles. The sheets were fresh and perfectly placed, while his hole was leaking with lubrication and stretched to perfection, and he arched his back with an exaggerated moan. Keith ignored him. Throk was just too cute!

Throk had big ears like Sendak, but hair black like Keith, and eyes blue-grey in nature. It was strange to see him with purple skin like Lotor, aside from a tuft of fur on his head and chest, and his cheeks were so rosy and big and cute! Keith leaned over the cot with a laugh. He pressed a hand to his stomach and wondered if the new baby would be just as cute, just as he wondered whether the two babies could become friends, and he heard Lotor huff again and sit upright in the bed, as if sex was more important than playing with Throk.

“Will you just fuck me already?” Lotor spat. “I’m hot and horny.”

Sendak laughed and cricked his neck. He sat by a far wall, while Shiro helped Keith to balance as he climbed onto the side of the cot, and Sendak seemed almost amused by how he adored Throk and fussed over him, as if he weren’t the cutest baby in the world! Sendak cleared his throat, which made Keith jump, and – with a jerk of his head – he signalled over to the bed with a smile that bared his teeth and deepened the lines about his working eye. It brought a blush to Keith and forced him to jump down from the cot with a pout.

“My slut has grown impatient,” said Sendak.

“Sorry,” mumbled Keith. “I know you paid good money to watch us play, but Throk is so cute and I never got to see him before now! If we put on a good show, can I play with Throk for the afternoon? I like how he laughs. He makes me laugh, too.”

“If you can make Lotor come, you can play with Throk.”

“You promise? I want to play with Throk.”

Lotor rolled his eyes. He crawled off the bed, as he swung his legs around and lifted his hair high in the air with a seductive smirk and long moan, and – letting it fall like water from bare skin – he tilted his neck back and ran his hands down  his chest. Lotor tweaked his nipples and licked his lips, while he sauntered across to Keith with a sway of his hips, but Keith . . . with eyes fixated on Throk, eyes twinkling and bright . . . he couldn’t care less how Lotor looked, even as Lotor draped his arms around Keith’s neck and nibbled his earlobe.

“Come fuck me, first,” ordered Lotor.

Lotor slid his hands down to grope Keith’s buttocks. Keith squeaked and laughter spiralled forth from Lotor’s lips, as he reached out for Keith’s white hand and walked backwards towards the bed. Together, they climbed onto the bed and ignored the various cameras around them. A soft touch of their lips revealed a sweet taste, like milk and honey, and Lotor groaned as he slid his tongue into waiting mouth. Keith glanced back toward Throk.

There was little sense of arousal or desire, but neither was required to put on a good show. Lotor rolled onto his back and brought Keith on top of him, while swollen stomach pressed hard against Lotor with a strange sensation, and Lotor spread his legs to wrap them around his tiny waist with a theatrical moan of pleasure. A tiny erection perked up between Lotor’s buttocks, pressing ever closer to his winking hole, while they made out with great expertise. Lotor explored his flesh with soft fingers. Keith sighed and knew it was easier to obey.

* * *

Keith stood before the mirror with hands on his stomach. The swollen skin was stretched with visible marks, enough that he sometimes feared the skin might split open, and – every so often – he saw little handprints against his flesh. He laughed and pressed his hand back, as if he could make contact with the child even through the layers of skin and muscle. Every move they made was like a flutter deep inside, as if he swallowed dozens of live butterflies, and he often cried from sheer happiness in anticipation of meeting them. He whispered:

“Do you promise I will get to keep them?”

“I swear to you,” said Shiro.

Shiro came to stand behind him, with chin rested on black hair. It would be impossible for Keith to go to school in his condition, even were he not swollen with unborn child, simply as he passed far too easily for a fourteen-year old even at eight-years of age. He smiled as Shiro ran lotion over the skin and hummed with contentment as hands ran over a tiny footprint, and Keith could only lean back and whisper back with a barely concealed fear:

“I can’t lose another baby.”

* * *

Keith laughed through his tears.

Ren looked beautiful. He could easily pass as human, just as Shiro and Keith passed as humans, and he bore the same black hair that stood stark against his pale skin, with blue-grey eyes were wide and big and made him look even cuter than imaginable. The blue baby-grow clung to his chubby frame, while the tiny blanket over him moved every time he kicked his legs or punched at the air with open-mouthed yawns. A tear ran down Keith’s cheek.

 _He missed Throk_. Ren was the most beautiful baby in the world, but he could never replace Keith’s firstborn who was out there somewhere . . . maybe alone or maybe with a friend, maybe in pain or maybe happy . . . Keith sniffed and hugged Ren close to his chest. The sound of his beating heart provided a comfort to the infant, who yawned wide and snuggled closer, and the newborn baby scent drifted into the air and brought back brief memories of Throk, including those of his very short visit to Lotor. Keith hummed an old tune to him.

It was comfortable being sequestered in the bedroom, even as Matt complained about tidying away the bloody sheets, and this time – despite the almost agonising ache to his lower half – there was a rush of endorphins and adrenaline, as he brushed a finger over a soft and rosy cheek with low hums. He half-closed his eyes, as Shiro climbed into bed beside him and silently wept as he ran his hands over Ren’s hair with trembling hands.

“He’s beautiful,” said Keith. “I’ll call him Ren.”

“That’s a good name,” laughed Shiro.

“I want to teach him how to be an engineer.” Keith wiped at his tears. “I like taking things apart and putting them together, and you said I’m good at mechanical stuff! Maybe I can play catch with him? I can play tag with him, too! Do you think he’ll like me?”

“He’ll love you,” swore Shiro. “I know I love you.”

“So why do you look so sad?”

Shiro pressed a kiss to Keith’s head. It was soft and chaste, although he let out a low and shuddered breath that rustled Keith’s hair with a burst of warmth, and Keith struggled to stop his stomach from churning in absolute dread as Shiro took Ren into his arms. A momentary terror overcame him that Ren would be taken from him, enough that he squealed and reached back out and forced Ren from Shiro so that he could embrace him and hold him close.

A second sigh followed, but Shiro made no attempt to take Ren from him. Matt finished cleaning up the bedroom and packing up his medical equipment, while Ren pulled strange faces and nuzzled close to his chest, and – even although Shiro was the father – Keith felt an overwhelming desire to keep Ren all to himself. He was too lost in thought to think about the next few words that spilled from Shiro’s mouth, even as they caught him by surprise:

“You can’t have any more children.”

It took a long few seconds to process the words. Keith caught sight of Matt by the door, as he sent Shiro a mournful frown and backed away with a mutter of ‘I’ll send the cheque tomorrow’, and soon they were left alone with a promise of a pain prescription and iron tablets to be delivered the next day. The idea of being without more children broke Keith’s heart, because all grown-ups had children and he wanted one day to be a grown-up, and even though he looked more and more like a grown-up . . . he was still just a child.

“W-Why?” Keith asked. “Why not?”

“You were too young to carry the first time,” mumbled Shiro. “Your body is still growing and maturing, but _physically_ you’re still in your early teenagers, even if you’re still eight. It will be a good few years before you finish developing, and . . . and your body couldn’t take the pregnancy. It did too much damage to you, sweetie. You could still impregnate –”

“So I can’t have more babies?”

“You can still make other people pregnant. It’s – ah – not likely because I’m human and I can’t carry children as a man, but if we ever broke up -? Sure, you could get someone else pregnant and have children that way. Look, the important thing is you and Ren are okay.”

“But I can’t give Ren any brothers or sisters? I can’t have a family?”

“Honey, we _are_ a family,” swore Shiro.

Keith winced. He knew that Shiro was his brother, which meant Ren was his nephew, but then Ren came from him and that meant Ren was _Shiro’s_ nephew, and – somehow – it seemed too confusing to be both an uncle and a father. Ren was still his family, but he also wasn’t _his_ family. Keith dreamt of a husband . . . he dreamt of friends, he dreamt of three children with family on both sides . . . here he only dreamt of a friend. Ren was his friend and Ren was his escape. Keith sniffed and leaned against Shiro.

He slid further into the bed, while Shiro dragged a crib over to the side. It was made from soft fabric, with one side that collapsed down, and Shiro was able to place it fully adjacent to the bed, so that he could take Ren and place him inside for his sleep. Keith smiled, able to see his baby and yet still able to keep some distance, and he said nothing as he fell into a deep and uncomfortable sleep. The tears blurred his vision until sleep finally overcame him . . .

* * *

“Ah! Ah!” Keith cried. “T-That feels good!”

Shiro licked and suckled at his breast. There was no milk, but – for some reason – Shiro liked to pretend that there was lots of milk . . . he would call Keith ‘Daddy’ and nibble at the nipple that grew erect, before lathing it with his tongue until Keith was a mewling mess. Ren slept peacefully across the lounge, finally settling into a good rhythm, while Shiro’s other hand came up to tease and tweak Keith’s other nipple until he cried out in pleasure.

He writhed and fidgeted in his seat, while Shiro slurped and flicked his tongue openly over the nub until cool air brought it impossibly hard, and then laughed and moved onto the other while he used his hands to massage the skin and muscles of the ‘breast’ itself. Keith spread his legs wide and reached down to rub at his hard cock, while throwing back his head with reddened cheeks and moaning loud enough to disturb the seven-week old babe. He broke into a sweat, as he clenched the sofa cushions until his hands turned white. Keith panted out:

“D-Do you – you still want – do you still want -?”

Keith cried out and bucked upward. He buried a hand into Shiro’s hair, as drool trickled from the corner of his mouth and he pulled those soft lips closer to his teat, and Shiro bit hard around the areola to leave visible marks, before he suckled at the nipple with suck force that Keith could see it move in and out like a wave. It was erotic. Keith gave an open-mouth groan, before that tongue traced patterns around and slurped at his skin.

“No,” confessed Shiro. “I want _you_ to fuck _me_.”

It was the first time Shiro wanted to be fucked, but now Keith looked like a grown-up and Shiro seemed to change his attentions from wanting to _own_ him to wanting to be _owned_ , and something about that turned Keith on more than he dared admit. Shiro slowly stepped back from the sofa and preformed a striptease, while Keith could only quickly work his member free from his pants until he was fully naked. He watched with an eager eye. Shiro was handsome and hard, as he crawled on all fours toward Keith with dilated pupils.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” mewled Shiro.

* * *

Shiro laughed as he bounced Ren. The one-year old giggled and gasped and blew raspberries, while constantly reaching out for the white tuft of hair on Shiro’s head, and yet – each time he reached – Shiro would pull him back with an exaggerated gasp and pull a face at his young son. Ren would pause, screw up his face, and then burst into laughter. It was a game the two enjoyed that seemed to be all about making stranger faces than the time previous.

Keith threw himself down on the sofa, where he kicked at the brochures on the coffee-table with a socked foot, and – curling his lip – he rolled his eyes to see a wide selection of information about various nurseries and schools. It was clear that Shiro wanted only the best education for their son, but equally . . . Keith clenched his hands until his muscles bulged and his knuckles turned white, as he thought back to the years trapped by Shiro’s side and caught in the net of home-schooling even as he longed for a social life.

It was difficult not to resent Ren. He looked more like Shiro every day, so different to Throk who Keith longed to hold. Keith drained the last of his can of soda, before he slammed it onto the table, as both sets of eyes turned to him. Shiro let out a long hiss of breath. Lately, he seemed to alternate between ‘submissive’ in bed and ‘dictator’ in daily life. Keith had been called a ‘petulant teenager’ more than he could count. He jerked his head to Ren and asked:

“Why do you love him more?”

Shiro stood with Ren clasped to his chest, before he came over to sit beside Keith. The sofa dipped with his weight and he nudged Keith with his elbow in a playful manner, while he leaned closer and placed a kiss to Keith’s check, as if he sought to coax him into a better mood with the promise of something more to come. Keith swatted him away and flipped open one of the brochures to a private nursery adjacent to the Garrison, as Shiro asked:

“Why do you think I love Ren more than you?”

“You give him all the love and attention.”

Shiro rolled his eyes and scoffed, even as Keith flicked through glossy pages whose prices looked extortionate even to very young eyes, and he struggled to recognise any faces of students who looked his age and yet were likely ten years his superior. A part of him remembered a Galra comedy of an old man that looked like a child, where puberty never set in due to a lack of sexual activity, and Keith envied him . . . he smiled to think about what it would have been like to have a childhood with friends and sports and school.

“You’re acting like a jealous brother,” chastised Shiro.

“Yeah, well, I _am_ jealous and I _am_ his brother,” spat Keith. “I look too old to play with the other kids, not that you ever let me out of the house alone anyway. He’s supposed to be _my_ friend and _my_ responsibility, but you’re taking him away from me, and I’m going to be all alone again and I hate it! How long until you fuck him, too?”

Shiro stood to slide Ren into his play-pen. Keith climbed to his feet, as he lifted his head high with chin in the air, and narrowed his eyes to throw dark gazes in Shiro’s direction, while Shiro – with a flared nostrils and curled lips – turned with folded arms. A cold silence fell between them. Keith heard every loud beat of his heart, while his mouth ran dry and his head grew light, and he stormed forward to lean as far into Shiro’s space as he dared. Shiro did not so much as flinch, but merely raised an eyebrow with a loud huff of indignation.

“Go to your room, Keith,” said Shiro.

“Gladly,” shouted Keith. “I hate you and I hate him, too!”

Ren burst into tears, as Keith ran out of the lounge and straight upstairs. He stamped his feet down with every step to exacerbate the noise, before he slammed shut his bedroom door and turned the music on his stereo to maximum, and kicked the floorboards over and over until Shiro threatened to ground him, and – with nowhere to go for the empty threat – Keith burst into tears and turned the music up ever louder. Shiro would never hear him cry.

* * *

“Hey, is that Lotor on the news?”

Keith blew on the hot slice of pizza. He sat barefoot on the sofa, while Ren rested his head on his lap and slept with thumb in his mouth, and – after wiping grease off on his old t-shirt – he would brush at black hair with a smile and stroke at those chubby cheeks. The pizza tasted good and it was rare that Shiro let him eat junk food, but somehow it turned bitter when he witnessed the familiar boy immortalised behind the silver screen of the television.

Shiro _twice_ let Keith ‘play’ with a boy his own age, with the first being during his pregnancy and the second being to visit Throk for the only time during Throk’s life, but it was difficult to fully recognise Lotor when both times were sexual in nature and brief in visitation. The television showed a photograph of Lotor when he was around seven or so, and now again at the age of twelve, albeit those images were taken at a distance as he sat on a lawn in the darkness surrounded by police officers and people in suits. Keith slurped up some cheese.

It slid off the sauce and struck his chin, which he pulled off with a soft laugh. He expected Shiro to roll his eyes, maybe hand him a fork and knife, but instead Shiro took the pizza box from beside Ren and slid it onto the other side of Keith’s lap, before he sat down on the sofa cushion and leaned forward. He rested a hand on Ren’s legs, while his face paled and he visibly swallowed hard back a solid lump. Shiro rapidly blinked and whispered:

“Turn up the volume, please?”

“Huh?” Keith asked. “Sure, I guess.”

Keith turned up the volume and took another slice. He caught only odd words from the television set as he focussed on his food . . . _‘continued sexual assault’, ‘kidnapped’, ‘false imprisonment’, ‘paedophile ring’, ‘child pornography’, ‘other known victims’_. . . he saw a photograph of Throk, now likely around two years in age, and he struggled to hold back tears as he saw his son in the arms of a social worker. Throk was safe. Sendak must have kept his word and kept him as a friend for Lotor, who raised Throk in his place.

“I didn’t realise Lotor was twelve,” said Keith. “He’s only three years older than me. How come they’re reporting it like his being with Sendak is bad? I thought relationships were good? You were always good to me and you’re my friend and I love you, so isn’t that a good thing? How come they’re talking about Throk, too? Will Throk will live here now?”

“We – We have to leave, Keith. We have to go.”

Shiro was already on his feet. Keith watched as he raced about the lounge, grabbing at Ren’s toys and stuffing them into his diaper bag, before he ran back to the sofa with the car-seat and Keith’s favourite pair of shoes. He practically threw the shoes at Keith, as he wrenched Ren from his spot on the sofa until the small boy burst into tears at his disturbed nap, and fought to get him into the car-seat even as he swore with trembling hands. Shiro was frantic. It was difficult to watch him, even as he obediently put on his shoes with a frown. Keith asked:

“Shiro? I don’t get –”

“ _We have to go, Keith. Now!_ ”

There was no time to ask questions. The second his shoes were on his feet, Shiro grabbed him by the arm strong enough to bruise and dragged him to the front door, where he practically threw him at the car and ran toward the backseat to carefully lock Ren into place. Shiro left the front door unlocked, without any baggage in the boot, and he forcibly pulled Keith into the seat up front and locked the seatbelt around him with tears in his eyes.

Keith was afraid.

* * *

_‘Open up, this is the police!’_

The motel room reeked of smoke. Keith sat on the double-bed with Ren held tight to his chest, while he wrapped his arms around his son and buried his nose into soft hair, and – as he drew in choked and heaved breaths – the flashing lights of sirens blinded him through the moth-eaten curtains that didn’t quite meet in the middle. Keith rocked back and forth with Ren, while he screwed shut his eyes and tried to hold back tears as Ren wailed.

Shiro ran to his side, as he sat on the edge of the bed. There were tears running down his eyes, while the sirens screamed in their ears, and Keith flinched as Shiro pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered for him to open his eyes and look at him. Keith wanted to go home. He glanced at the television that revealed Matthew Holt, a prominent figure in local society, was arrested at his home and videos revealed numerous other victims. . . Lance McClain and Hunk Garret were still ‘at large’. Shiro let out a shuddered breath and whispered:

“Whatever happens, I love you.”

The door burst open with a flurry of splinters. Keith screamed and brought his knees to his chest, as he buried his head against Ren and rocked back and forth. Men swarmed the room with guns drawn and metal over their faces. He wept until he began to retch, with the terror bringing bile into the back of his mouth. There were people on either side of him . . . _radios blared, sirens echoed, windows smashed_. . . the last thing he heard was:

“On the ground! _On the ground now_!”

* * *

Keith sat cross-legged on the hospital bed.

The room had the cold stench of bleach, while the walls were deathly white. There was a photograph of Ren on the bedside table, where nurses swore to him that he could soon visit on the paediatric ward, and a tall pitcher of water sat reflecting the light from the windows, where he spotted policeman always on guard in the garden beyond. He heard snippets of conversation . . . _‘the other boy is upstairs’, ‘both victims in the same hospital’ . . ._

He was bored with interviews. He was tired of examinations. The female doctors made him part his legs to do ‘internal exams’, while nurses held his hand and drew blood, and the way they gleefully reported that he was free from ‘disease’ was strange, because he _knew_ he was well and could have easily have told them that information. There were social workers asking to point at places on a doll, while people he didn’t know asked if he was the boy on certain videos, and other people in police uniforms asked him about Ren and Throk.

It was difficult to endure, especially when one doctor reconfirmed he would be unable to carry any children in future, but his tears soon silenced the doctor and – since then – a social worker had been by his bedside at all times. Keith sniffed and looked up to Shay, who opened the door to a strange woman and talked in low voices with her, before guiding the woman to his bedside and handing the woman a mug of steaming hot coffee, as she chirped:

“Keith, this is your mother.”

Keith glanced back to Shay. The social worker was from a place far away, like ‘Balmera’, and she looked funny but sounded nice . . . he sensed no malice or lies from her lips, while she stood with a warm smile and hands clasped before her, and yet the woman at his side was a total stranger and was obviously of Galra descent. The purple fur over her body only made her look alien and foreign, so unlike anyone else Keith knew or met. He frowned.

There was an obvious family resemblance, as she looked just as much like Keith as Shiro looked like their father. He gently smoothed down his hospital gown, as he strove to maintain the best image in front of someone that could be so important to him, but an equal part of him struggled to hold back the adrenaline and frustration. Keith rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, while he chewed at his cheeks and licked at his lips, while he looked between Shay and his ‘mother’ with confused and fatigued eyes. He muttered out:

“Where were you since I was born?”

Krolia winced and swirled the contents of her mug with a trembling smile. The tears in her eyes made them look all the larger, enough that he was forced to look away out of awkwardness, and he fidgeted with his hands on his lap with a frown. It was impossible to control how his heart raced and his skin broke out with a sweat, while he fought to draw in enough breaths to keep from hyperventilating, and Shay came around to take his hands and recited to him his breathing exercises, until Krolia was able to choke out a few words.

“I’m here now,” whispered Krolia.

“I don’t even _know_ you,” spat Keith. “Who _are_ you?”

“Do you know there are no women Galra?” Krolia blinked away her tears. “It means any female Galra you see is _half_ -Galra, and – well – I struggled a lot when I fell in love with your father, as my family disowned me and I lost everything all at once. I joined the Blade of Marmora in the civil war, to restore Zarkon to the throne, but that was dangerous . . .

“They wouldn’t let me join with a human family. I was expected to continue a ‘pure’ bloodline, plus I couldn’t drag you or Shiro into war with me, because I would be _devastated_ if anything happened to you, so I . . . I left you with your father. Keith, I _swear_ that I thought he would be good for you, but then I get this phone call as – as – as your next-of-kin and they’re telling me you’ve been abused and if I could be your guardian and I –”

“Wait? What?” Keith furrowed his brow. “I wasn’t abused. Shiro took great care of me and Ren, and he never hurt me or made me scared or deprived me of anything I needed. He taught me all my subjects, and he says my grades are well above other kids my age, and –”

“And – And he made you do sexual things, didn’t he?”

Keith turned pale. The roll to his stomach brought a cold wave over his flesh, as if someone poured cold water over his body and let it slowly roll until it dripped away, and he was lightheaded with the realisation someone else _knew_ his secret without being told. It was the one thing they all told him from ‘day one’ . . . Matt, Lance, Hunk, Shiro . . . it was their little secret and anyone who found out would take him away and lock Shiro in prison. Tears sprang to Keith’s eyes as his lips trembled, and he wiped at his nose with his forearm.

“He didn’t _make_ me,” muttered Keith.

No one said anything to him. The two women simply shared a look, before Krolia tried another approach with a bright and feigned smile, and – slipping her coffee mug onto the side-table – she slowly reached out to him and squeezed his shoulder. It was a warm hand with firm fingers, but so unlike the lingering touches of the men in his life, and a part of him struggled to comprehend how he was supposed to respond. Krolia chirped:

“Would you like to live with me and Ren?”

 _Ren_. Keith swung around and knelt forward, bracing himself on his hands, as he beamed a bright smile that brought crinkles to the corners of his eyes, and – with a loud laugh – sat upright and clapped his hands together with a tilt of his head. _They wouldn’t take Ren away from him_! He hummed a low tune and looked to the photograph on the side-table, where Ren sat with perfect posture for the photographer, and how it was such a nice day that day . . . they shared a picnic in the park after the photo-shoot. Keith asked in an excited voice:

“What about Throk?”

“Throk will have to stay in the hospital a little while,” said Shay. “We need to run tests just to make sure he really is your family, at which point we will check with Krolia how you feel and how Ren feels, and we will try to help Throk to live with you, if that is good for everyone involved. We have to wait just a while longer, though. Can you wait, Keith?”

Keith slumped down onto his buttocks. He frowned and thought to the son he lost so long ago, only able to see for a few minutes before being expected to fuck Lotor, and how he struggled to maintain an erection when he wanted to much to play, only to be dragged off once the deed was done . . . he would never know how Throk looked or what Throk liked . . . Keith let out a staggered sigh. The room ran cold as he forced a smile and looked Shay in the eyes.

“Yeah, sure, I can wait,” lied Keith.

* * *

“Keith, never – _never_ – do that again!”

Tears sprang to his eyes.

Keith sat cross-legged on his bed with blurred vision, as tears merged with sweat and distorted the world around him, and – on his lips – he still tasted the bittersweet boy-cock of Ren who was now bouncing awkwardly in Krolia’s arms. He struggled to hold back choked breaths, as he clutched at his chest and bent forward with broken pants. The slap to his cheek stung and hurt. Shiro never hurt him . . . never spanked him . . . Keith shivered as he sat only in his night-shirt and boxers, while he wept and rubbed at his eyes with a trembling hand.

“I was just trying to get him to sleep,” cried Keith.

Krolia glared at him with cold eyes, but – seeing his pain – her expression softened. A low sigh escaped her lips, as she crawled awkwardly onto the bed with Ren still in her arms, and soon she fluffed the pillows behind her and sat beside him, while rubbing soothing circles on his back until he caught his breathing returned to normal, and she whispered an apology while he cuddled next to her and reached out for Ren. Krolia held him back.

It nearly brought back his hyperventilation. Krolia hushed him with a kind smile, before lying Ren down between them and handing Keith a fresh diaper, and – with a warm gesture to the squirming baby – helped him to dress Ren and fully cover his private parts from sight, until allowing Keith to lift him high to his chest and hold him close. There was still something dark to Krolia’s expression, as she struggled to hold back her frustration, but her patience overrode any anger until she rested her hand on his head with a soft sigh, and asked:

“I thought we explained about ‘bad’ touches?”

“How is it bad if it feels good?”

“Keith, I -!” Krolia let out a long groan. “Do you want Throk to live with us, too? If you want Throk to stay with us, you must promise _never_ to touch your brothers like that again. I’m going to keep Ren in my room for now, okay? You’re nearly ten, but it’s far too young for you to be acting like a father, and . . . and Ren is Shiro’s baby, isn’t he? That – That makes him your brother. He can be your friend and someone you play with, if you let him.”

“I – I get to have a friend?” Keith asked.

“You’ll get to have lots of friends,” promised Krolia. “If you like, we’re going to get you started in a local church group next month with lots of other children, and I thought you might like to join the Scouts, because they get to go camping and help people. We’ll discuss it with your therapist tomorrow, but you need to learn how to act with other people.

“The places where Shiro touched you are _bad_ places. We only touch ourselves there, or someone – when we’re a grown-up – that we trust and love and who isn’t related to us in any shape or form, okay? If you fall in love as a grown-up, with another grown-up, it’s okay for them to touch you there . . . it’s even okay to touch yourself there at any age . . . it’s just you _can’t_ touch other people there while you’re a child, okay? It’s very, very bad.”

Keith furrowed his brow, even as she pulled him close. He could see the door to her bedroom across the hallway, where a nursery sat in the adjacent room, and he knew that it was normal for mommies to watch their children, but she was _his_ mommy and he was _Ren’s_ daddy, so it made sense for him to watch Ren and no one else. Keith wanted to show Ren how much he loved him, which was so easy with nice touches and licks like what Shiro once did to him, but now they told him those things were bad and wrong and he didn’t understand.

“Why? I won’t, but I don’t understand why.”

Another sigh followed the last, as Krolia pressed a kiss to his black hair and ran her hand through the soft locks, and – holding him close – she reached out to stroke Ren’s cheek with a sad smile that aged her beyond her years until he barely recognised her face. Ren let loose a large yawn and rubbed at his eyes, while Krolia gently coaxed him from Keith and climbed out of the bed, as she promised to be back soon to tuck him into bed, and – as she walked towards the door with hunched shoulders – she said with a tremble to her voice:

“We’ll discuss it in the morning, my love.”

* * *

Krolia knelt down in the doorway. Shay stood just behind her, with hands clasping the handle of her briefcase, while the sun streamed down behind them and cast long shadows through the lounge, as Keith stood at the opposite end with heart racing in his chest. He glanced to Ren who slept peacefully in his travel crib, before he looked back with watering eyes to the young toddler in front of Krolia who bore familiar tufted ears and had a tufted chest. A part of him broke. Tears streamed down his cheeks, as a relieved smile broke over his lips.

“Throk, this is your brother,” said Krolia. “This is Keith.”

“Kay?” Throk mumbled. “Hi, Kay!”

Those purple cheeks lit up with excitement. Throk reached out with clawed hands to clasp at the air, while toddling a few steps toward Keith with incoherent murmurings, and Keith – weeping with broken laughter – collapsed to his knees and held his arms out wide for his son to finally return to him, as he looked to the two women with a momentary fear. There was no way they would bring him back just to take him away again, was there? Keith choked out:

“Can I hug him?”

Krolia nodded with a warm smile, with lines breaking at her eyes. The kindness there was beyond anything Keith had seen in his life, enough that he _knew_ she expected nothing from him in return except for him to be happy, and he laughed all the more to know he would not need to ‘repay’ her favour. Instead, he simply knelt down in turn and let Throk toddle over to him with loud murmurs and laughs and blown raspberries. He was beautiful.

Keith whisked Throk up into his arms. The boy was five-eighths Galra in nature, although he took more after Keith than Sendak in nature, and Keith was relieved to see that Throk appeared genuinely curious and invested in the world around him, without judgement or ulterior motives or cold sadism, and – while he knew those were not traits innate to a child – a part of him feared he might see Sendak in those blue-grey eyes. Keith wept and pressed dozens of kisses to his head, while he ran his hands over his face and whispered:

“I get to be his big brother?”

“You sure do,” said Krolia. “You’re a good boy, so I trust you to help me look after him. Together, we will make sure he’s happy and healthy! You’re also _my son_ and still a child, so I want you not too worry too much, okay? If you get tired or stressed, it’s okay to let me take charge and look after him, and . . . I promise I’ll look after you, too. You’re my sons.”

The words were strange to him. He was too used to having to look after Ren when he cried or screamed, just as he was used to taking care of Shiro and his sexual needs, and to be looked after by someone else . . . _nothing expected, nothing demanded . . ._ it made him suspicious, even as he knew he could never repay her for bringing Throk back to him. He drew in a deep breath as he buried his nose into Throk’s hair, before a momentary thought returned to Shiro and whether he was okay or whether he suffered . . . Keith swallowed hard and said:

“I never had a real family before.”

Keith laughed and reached out for Krolia. It took a few seconds for her to crawl over, before he threw himself against her and let her hug the two of them, and – as all three remained locked together – he wept until his tears ran dry and Throk slapped his face with a ‘bad pain, pain go bye-bye’.  Keith was afraid to let go, lest it all be a dream and they slip through his fingers, and he wanted them with him always, as he sobbed with absolute happiness.

* * *

Keith woke with a start.

Krolia stood at the foot of his bed with a fresh load of laundry, as the sun streamed in through the gap in the curtains, and – with a smile – she went to his closet and started hanging the fresh load of clothes, where he noted that some were larger in size than hers. He would never be like other children, which wouldn’t always be so much a problem, but it felt strange asking to sleep beside her when he knew no other ‘teenagers’ ever slept in their parents’ bed.

He collapsed back, while he ran his hand over sweat-covered skin. The fabric of his pyjamas clung to his flesh, as he panted for breath and struggled to adjust his vision, and he stared up at the ceiling with a frown across his brow. It was warm inside the bedroom. A fresh scent of bacon and toast drifted through the air, until he turned his head to see a freshly made breakfast on a tray beside him, and Throk and Ren playing in their play-pen at the base of his bed, with loud laughter and the aimless bickering of babes. Krolia chirped:

“Bad dream, honey?”

Keith hummed and sat upright in bed. He pulled the tray closer and nibbled at the toasted bacon sandwich, while Krolia finished up her chores and dragged a chair over to the playpen, and – leaning over with a smile – she seemed oblivious to Shay dipping into the bathroom with a quick run from her bedroom door. Keith laughed through a mouthful of food, before he shot a look to Krolia who followed his gaze with a blush, and soon threw a soft cushion at him until she reached down to hand Ren a large teething ring. Ren called ‘ta’.

It brought a laugh to Keith to hear Ren’s first word, until he choked on his food and coughed until his eyes ran with tears, and he soon returned to laughing after drinking to clear his throat, while he wiped away the mess at his mouth. The happiness lingered, but it merged with the memory of his nightmare and the memories of his past. He glanced across the room to see the dozens of birthday cards lined up on his shelf, while the shower ran in the bathroom.

“You’ll be ten tomorrow,” said Krolia. “Excited?”

“Yeah, I guess,” murmured Keith. “I was supposed to celebrate with Shiro, you know? I – I know what he did was _wrong_. . . my therapist explained that I didn’t know enough about sex to agree, because I didn’t know about the risks . . . I didn’t know I could get diseases or that childbirth would hurt or that it was okay to say ‘no’. . . I know Shiro took advantage. It’s just – It’s just that it never _hurt_ and I always thought I wanted that from him.

“I do like that I don’t _have_ to have sex any more, because it felt like a chore at times! It made Shiro happy and it never hurt me, but it got boring and I wanted just to play with my friends and make friends and be like other children, and now I can’t have children when I’m older and I look like a teenager and life is really _hard_. It makes me sad.”

“It’s okay to be sad, Keith. I’m sad, too.”

“Yeah, but I still _love_ Shiro! I want him to be at my birthday party, because he’s my friend and nice to me and makes me feel good, but then I know what he did was wrong and I want to know why he would do bad things to me when I didn’t know better, and how can he be both nice to me and bad to me? How can you love and hate someone? I guess I’m confused, but I get more confused because I want those bad touches and I know they’re bad.”

Krolia screwed shut her eyes with a frown. He watched as she leaned into the playpen to check there were no items that could pose a choking hazard, before climbing onto his bed and dropping beside him with a loud sigh, and – while he ate with a sad smile – she lay on her back and clasped her hands over her stomach. Keith smiled to note a bruise on her neck, which instinctively brought his hands to his own in turn, only there were no bruises any longer and no marks and no _anything_. Krolia struggled to form a smile.

“Maybe I used the wrong word,” said Krolia.

Keith furrowed his brow in confusion, as Krolia rolled onto her side, and – resting her head on her hand – she reached out to touch his forehead to take his temperature. He quirked an eyebrow at her, as if to ask ‘really’, before rolling his eyes and finishing off his sandwich, while Shay ran out of the bathroom in only a towel and dipped back inside Krolia’s bedroom as she sung some old song in her native tongue. Krolia swallowed hard and sighed.

“Sex isn’t _always_ ‘bad’,” said Krolia.

“When is it good?”

“If you love someone, and you’re a grown-up, it can be very good.” Krolia smiled. “It’s about something called ‘consent’, like your therapist explained to you, and so long as you and your partner are both happy and know all the risks. . . you can have as much or as little as you like, even no sex at all or a whole lot, but it’s about being grown-up and being ‘consenting’.”

“So the ‘bad touch’ just means ‘it’s bad when a grown-up does it’?” Keith nodded with a frown. “I can understand that, but – ah – what if I do things to – to – to . . . myself? I can ‘consent’ to that, right? Just . . . I want to do stuff, but I don’t want to do it the bad way.”

“You – You can do that.” Krolia turned bright red. “That’s okay.”

“Is it not okay to talk about it? You seem embarrassed.”

Krolia groaned and threw her hands over her face. Keith pushed away his tray and downed his orange juice, before he glanced her over in a desperate desire to read her expression, but it was impossible to discern anything with purple hands over purple face. It reminded him too much of Throk when he wanted to hide or when he was upset, enough that he pondered whether it was a family quirk or just a learned habit. Keith choked out:

“Did I do bad again?”

“No,” gasped Krolia. “No! It’s just . . . it’s not something _most_ people talk about, but I also don’t want you to ever hurt yourself or feel ‘bad’, so always – _always_ – come to me if you have any questions and I _swear_ I’ll answer them as best as I’m able. We can also talk about it with your therapist, too. It’s – It’s okay to . . . touch yourself, though.”

A silence descended over them. He saw how red her cheeks turned, while she continued banged her head against the mattress with a low groan, and he frowned and poked her forehead until she turned with a trembling smile and burst into laughter. It was awkward and strange, as if she were trying to convince herself all was okay, but there was no malice and no cruelty, and he liked how she sat upright to ruffle his hair and take the tray from him. He felt like a kid again, being taken care of by someone he loved. Keith muttered with a smile:

“Thank you for being honest.”

Krolia kissed him on his forehead, before walking towards the door, and – before she could leave – Shay darted down the hallway and pulled her into a large hug, as she slathered her with kisses and promised to keep an eye on the children, only for Krolia to turn redder from embarrassment. Keith giggled and realised that there was no shame in love, which is why they were so happy to show affection publicly, which Shiro never dared to do. Krolia called:

“Any time, son. I love you!”

* * *

“How is Keith coping in the aftermath?”

Shay leaned into Krolia with a smile, as she kissed her cheek and jerked her head towards Keith outside in the garden. The kitchen window provided an excellent view, as the ten-year old ran over the freshly cut lawn in ‘escape’ of Throk, who would chase after him and always fall just short of catching him, but – each time Keith ran away – Throk would squeal in delight and attempt to give chase all over. It was beautiful to watch them so content.

Krolia bounced Ren on her hip, while Shay slid behind her and wrapped arms around her waist, and together they watched as their sons played outside with loud laughter, while Shay buried her head into the crook of Krolia’s neck. In a few months, Shay would move in for good and they would be able to raise the three children together, but – until then – Shay would sneak in and out each night and every morning. They stood comfortably together, while Keith whisked Throk high in the air and caught him with a bright smile.

“He’s coping well in therapy,” said Krolia.

“What about day-to-day life?”

The question lingered in the air between them. A cool breeze drifted through the kitchen, while clouds gathered in the sky outside, and it wouldn’t be long before they would need to call the boys inside, where the homemade cookies would be waiting for them. Krolia smiled and looked to the array of family photographs that littered the windowsill, as a tear fell from her cheek in regret of all the years lost and all the years that may have never come, even as she squeezed Ren tight against her and took in a deep breath with a saddened smile.

“I worry about him,” admitted Krolia.

“Why do you worry?”

“We need to get him a private tutor.” Krolia winced. “He’s only ten, but he’s so _advanced_ in almost every subject and looks like he’s fifteen. I worry putting him in a high-school might harm him . . . everyone is so sexual and dating and experimenting with drugs and cigarettes and breaking curfew, plus he’s never had a real childhood . . . he wants to play on the swings and watch his cartoons and fall asleep with cookies and milk . . . it’s such a shame.

“I promised he can start junior-high when he’s twelve, and he’s doing _amazingly_ in swim classes and scouts sessions and engineering clubs, so I don’t think he’s being deprived of any socialisation, and it helps now he has younger brothers to interact with, but I still think I could be doing _more_ for him. Am I doing enough? Is he happy?”

“He seems to be interacting well with them,” chirped Shay. “I saw the psychiatric reports and he appears to be developing quite well, as they report he has learnt about consent and sexual abuse in these past few weeks, and I am told he is building appropriate relationships now with his siblings? I will admit to concern. Do you think he poses a threat to them?”

“They asked me that when I expressed a desire to adopt Ren and Throk.” Krolia winced. “They told me that Keith would be a full-time job, as well as that he might act out or inappropriately, but – honestly – I think he did well aside from that incident I reported, and I promise he’s _never_ repeated anything like it ever since. He’s actually over-correcting right now, so he gets so furious if anyone kisses them or holds them for too long.”

Krolia shook her head to remember the previous days . . . a family friend blowing raspberries on Ren’s stomach, while Keith ran from a distance to head-butt him with a growl . . . no longer did he touch Ren in inappropriate ways, but instead he appeared to view any ‘touches’ as ones to protect his younger siblings, and it led to awkward scenarios. Keith would not abide skin-to-skin contact, even to shake hands, and he would visibly tense when someone clapped a hand on his shoulder. Krolia feared how he would handle adulthood, as she asked:

“How long until he finds the right balance?”

Shay heaved a long sigh, before pulling away to open the kitchen door. A loud call to the children to come inside had Keith sweeping Throk up into his arms, only to deliver a barrage of kisses and wave at them with a big grin, and – clearly – he had no qualms about physical intimacy with his loved ones, but only . . . a fear for the motives of others. He began the long walk along the footpath, as Shay quirked her head toward Krolia with a shrug.

“Every child is unique,” said Shay.

“I have faith he will be an amazing adult,” confessed Krolia. “I shall never forgive myself for leaving him in the care of my former husband . . . I will never forgive myself for how I raised a _monster_ with Shiro . . . I will do right by Keith, I swear. I will give him the childhood he missed and the life he desires, and I will watch as he becomes a good man.”

Krolia came to stand beside Shay. They held Ren between them, who stirred from his sleep with a loud yawn and a rub of his eyes, while Keith put Throk down and raced him towards the door, and – even beating him by a long shot – he turned and waited until Throk caught up to whisk him up and congratulate him as the ‘winner’. The two women watched as the boys headed towards the table and helped themselves to the cookies and milk waiting for them, while Krolia felt her heart fill to the brim with love and affection, as she choked out:

“I have faith in my son.”


End file.
